Friday, December 9, 2011

A Salacious Salad, Am I

Seemingly reposed as you are; poring over your notes,

The quiet calm before the impending storm.

Much like your libido , I suppose.

A venerable wellspring of that which is the sexual geyser hidden underneath that skin-tight shirt and ass-hugging pants.

Shall I emancipate you from such fetters?

Slowly you sip your coffee, mindlessly oblivious of my salacious stare.

Yes, salacious.

A salacious salad, am I.

In my mind's eye, I brazenly cross the tightrope strap of your brassiere.

With acrobatic deftness, undo the hook and straps of your subjugation with lingual dexterity.


My crotch burns from the heat of freshly brewed coffee as I sit there, drenched, having spilled my own cup onto myself while lustily undressing you as you mindlessly pore over your notes.

ported from here

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